In late July 2011, just days after the completion of our second school year, Khadar Ali drives his car to the middle of campus, throws open the passenger door, and steps out in a rage. He is angry and wants it to be known. He’s driven through the gate as if he owns the place, which is no surprise. He is now yelling at my students, many of whom are outside when he arrives.
“It is my school! It is my school!” he rages, right in front of all of them.
“What makes it your school?” I ask.
“I built the wall!” he responds, referring to his oversight of construction of the cement security wall that encircles the school.
“With my money,” I shoot back.
He then strides over to a group of boys and starts telling them that they should be angry, too, because this school favors girls. He tries to get my guards to arrest me, but to their credit, they want no part of any of this. When Khadar gets back in his car, he is still furious. As he speeds away, another man with him in the vehicle repeatedly shouts out the window at our girls, “Get the fuck off our land!”
Up until recently, Khadar had been problematic, but he’d also brought clear value to Abaarso. From the start, he seemed eager to be part of my plans and acted as “our Somali partner.” He was extremely knowledgeable and connected in Somaliland, and he had been instrumental in the land acquisition for the school, when unbeknownst to me, he’d led us to his subclan’s land. One of his strongest assets had been his contacts within the British Foreign Commonwealth Office. They told him about their desire to fund some educational initiatives in Somaliland, and he suggested to me that I write a proposal for Abaarso, with his own NGO, which we will call DEV, acting as the intermediary organization. While DEV acts solely in Somaliland, it is still legally an international NGO, so the British could send the money to DEV, who’d then give it to Abaarso. We were eventually awarded the grant, £150,000, the equivalent of about $225,000, over two years, which made me ecstatic. It seemed to be clear evidence that in Khadar I had found the right Somali partner.
Given my background and ultimate desire to attract donors, I wanted to ensure that our financial management was handled correctly from the start. I wasn’t yet in Somaliland, so I relied on Khadar to disperse the funds I sent. Khadar agreed that he’d keep Abaarso funds separate from DEV rather than commingling funds. That way, we could easily match accounting to actual movements in money. But in time I realized this never happened and the monies remained commingled in his DEV account. The most generous explanation for this is carelessness. The least is not pretty. Unfortunately, this was the first, but by no means the last, financial management issue that arose between Khadar and Abaarso. In fact, it had been two years, and despite promises, he’d still never provided an accounting explanation for the first $10,000 I’d sent.
Bringing the school to Abaarso Village had convinced many people in the area that Abaarso was his school. Why else would the school be located in Abaarso? Why would anyone else go out of their way to put a school in that undeveloped village with no water or power? There was also the matter of the sign he’d posted at the building site while I was away in the States. The Abaarso School of Science and Technology sign said “Sponsored by DEV,” with no mention of my having actually funded the construction. Whether Khadar had purposely made such oversights, or they were all accidents, one thing was for sure—much of the Somali world had come to believe that Khadar owned the school and his actions had supported this view.
People believing this false position had surely garnered Khadar clout, but I can only imagine that it also put him in challenging positions. When the watchmen demanded that I double their pay and I refused, many probably went to Khadar to say, “Khadar, you’re the owner. Get me my job back.” That’s speculation, but based on Somaliland culture, it is an awfully reasonable one. Similarly, a parent of an expelled student might ask him to get his kid back in. In both cases, Khadar could make up a little story about how that white boy was behaving poorly, and he would fix it, but in time, people would see that Khadar didn’t have the power he claimed. Over time, this would dig a deeper and deeper hole. He could come clean, but what if he could instead take over the school? Or just as effective, what if it completely collapsed? Couldn’t he ultimately blame the failure on me, and no one would need to know that he wasn’t really who they thought he was?
Over the past few months, our relationship has been unraveling. I’ve also heard that he’s been badmouthing me and the school, even telling people that a fight is coming. There have been some attempts at negotiating our disagreements. Up until a week ago, it seemed we were close to a resolution. The parents had tried to reconcile us. My assistant headmaster, Harry, and two other teachers had also tried. Everyone wanted to let him save face in return for a written guarantee that he would not interfere with management or bother the school. But the Somalilanders, the ultimate mediators, had come back and told me that nothing could be accomplished. Khadar’s sights were set on taking over the school. I had involved the school board’s executive committee, showing them the financial issues, which included our missing a large chunk of money due from DEV for the British government grant. I showed them his governance violations, in which he acted like Abaarso’s owner instead of just as a board member. For my relationship with Khadar, this had made things worse, significantly upping the ante and no doubt embarrassing him. But I didn’t see much choice, considering he’d been ducking my requests for the accounting information for months, promising he’d send it right away and then never doing so.
When Khadar had finally sent some financials, they were fraught with inaccuracies, including double counting some items and putting too high a number on others. The math still had him owing the school about $30,000. He agreed to meet in person to discuss it but then canceled a few minutes before, when I was already in Hargeisa. By this time, I’d had enough and demanded that he meet me at once.
That’s when all my fears came true. “Jonathan, you will leave the country immediately,” he demanded. “The teachers will leave with you, and you can take the students, too.” He concluded with, “You are on my land.” After months of Khadar denying this was his intention, it was at least a relief to have his position out in the open.
Now, here he is on campus making a scene. The students stare in disbelief, unsure what they are witnessing. I’m too angry to be bewildered.
Before this step, Khadar had made mistakes, but he still could have maintained his reputation as a respected contributor to a great new school. Sure, he’d dug himself a hole, and people would learn that he didn’t own Abaarso, but he could have called that an innocent misunderstanding. With the school’s success, the Somali community would be congratulating everyone involved, and Khadar would have been a big part of that. What’s more, he would have been a benefactor to his countrymen, as well as his clansmen, whose village hosts the school. Unfortunately, that’s not the direction he took.
The day after his visit to campus, the gang of villagers shows up at the school’s gate telling Harry they will kill me if I don’t leave the country. A parent visiting campus even hears one of them saying they are going to turn the school and the campus into a hotel. Since the school had opened, nothing like this had ever occurred, and suddenly it happens right after Khadar has ordered me out of the country? I don’t need to think hard to know who is behind our unwelcome visitors.
The future of Abaarso is now in question. In the world I come from, this has an easy solution. It’s not Khadar’s land, nor is it the village’s land. The land belongs to the school. What’s more, the students, parents, teachers, and largest funders are unequivocally behind me, and they want the school protected from Khadar. Legally, Khadar has no claim. He is only a board member, and short of a board vote to send the teachers, the students, and me home, he has no legal grounds whatsoever. But, of course, we are not in the world I come from. We are in a clan justice system in Khadar’s subclan’s territory. I am not from that subclan or any other. I am not even Somali. We are huge underdogs.